


Layer 03: Quite a Different Version

by thegreatwordologist



Series: I Know Other 'Verses [4]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassin Universe, Developing Relationships, F/M, First Meetings, M/M, Oblique Mentions of Rape, Suggestions of abuse, suggestions of violence, tags added as necessary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatwordologist/pseuds/thegreatwordologist
Summary: Martin didn't take 7 goes to get his CPL... he spent those years saving up in quite a different way indeed.





	Layer 03: Quite a Different Version

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ottershaveshifted](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ottershaveshifted) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> Martin Is an assassin, and this fact is slowly revealed to the MJN crew.  
>  
> 
> I don't have this story fully plotted out just yet, so I'm not quite sure where it's going to take me. I've tagged Carolyn/Herc and Martin/Douglas because that's the likely direction, but I'm not going to guarantee anything just yet.

Carolyn closed the books on the table, reaching up to remove her reading glasses so that she could rub her eyes in a bid to get the sting out of them. The amount of paperwork it took to get a business off the ground was astounding, but Carolyn wasn't one to shy away from it. Sighing, she straightened and felt the pull in her back and neck that spoke of hours bent over her plans and projections. As she rose from her chair, she deliberately swept her gaze past the clock without focusing on it, not wanting to know the hours of sleep she'd lost to it all.

Slowly, she gathered the books and paperwork into a stack and hefted them in her arms, her reading glasses folded up and tucked into the collar of her blouse. She didn't carry them to her room because she feared Arthur's eyes, she told herself firmly as she put one foot in front of the other, sensible shoes climbing stair after stair toward her room. She did it because she wasn't ready for his questions, and she would continue to do so until she knew that she could make a proper go of it.

There was so much work to be done...

She nudged the door to her room open with her foot, not bothering with the light as she turned to set the papers on the desk along the same wall. Her hand reached out blindly, catching the edge of her door and swinging it shut with just enough force so that it clicked into place without slamming. Habit, all of it. Habit to keep from waking Arthur. Habit to keep from disturbing the blessed silence at this unholy time of night.

The soft click from the dark shadow at the other end of the room was _not_ habit. Carolyn straightened, eyes searching out that darkness and trying to see into it enough to figure out what the click had been. She wasn't used to that bit of noise - it didn't sound like the house settling around her, nor a clock. It was too loud. As her hand reached for the light-switch by the door, another sound confirmed her suspicions that it was new.

"I wouldn't. Leave them off for the moment, Mrs. Knapp-Shappey." 

The voice was gravel and danger, almost purred into the darkness that now surrounded them, and she realized that whoever it was had chosen the spot nearest the window to avoid even the chance of moonlight. She stared hard into the darkness, but her eyes saw only slightly lighter shapes floating and impressions of dark and darker that didn't resolve into anything she could recognize. 

Her heart pounding in her throat, Carolyn reached out to swing the chair at her desk around, knowing whoever-it-was could see her clearly enough. His eyes had adjusted, of course, and there was that bit of moonlight illuminating the rest of the room. Whatever he wanted her for, the man could see her well enough indeed. 

Back straight, she lowered herself into the chair, determined not to swoon. If she was about to die, she wouldn't go out like some little _girl_. Folding her hands in her lap, she tilted her head imperiously. "Well? I assume you've come for something particular." 

A chuckle floated through the darkness. She'd expected that. What she hadn't expected was the tone of it. It was startled, and a little amused - not the nasty cold she'd expected. Her lips thinned. 

"Impatient? Well, I suppose so, given what I've heard." It was a young man. She could tell that much by his voice. What on earth did a young man want with her? Still, she couldn't see him. That much was a blessing. It meant she'd be getting out of this. And she had little enough doubt she'd be able to pick that voice out of a lineup. It was already emblazoned on her memory.

"I'd assume you're the one to be impatient, breaking into a woman's home," she countered, voice sharper than she'd meant it to be. She wondered if he realized that was the fear coming out, or if he thought she was as much of a fool as the rest of humanity. "You'd have more fun if you did some wining and dining first."

He sucked in a sharp breath at the words, and Carolyn froze. The breath in her throat stilled as icy fingers scraped down her back. That breath suggested... "Unless you're not here for... _that_."

"I'm afraid you're not really my type, Mrs. Knapp-Shappey." Was it her imagination, or did the voice sound somewhat apologetic? "You are impressive, though. Most go to pieces the moment I speak up, and I don't get any sort of conversation."

"For conversation, you could've joined my son and me for dinner." She raised her chin, flinching when she heard the click again. Whatever that sound was, it was metal-on-metal and loud. Heart-stoppingly loud. She did her best to look imperious rather than quivering. 

"Let's talk about your son a moment, Mrs. Knapp-Shappey. Mr. Shappey tells me the two of you had a bit of a squabble over him." And in that moment, the quivering disappeared. Her back straightened, the icy chill chased away by the fire of her fury.

"Call me Carolyn," she commanded, clenching her hands into fists in her lap at the new breath of laughter.

"So inviting," the man mocked, and Carolyn suddenly couldn't bear to be seated, passive. She rose, clasping her hands together to stop herself gesturing wildly, and took two steps into the darkness. The click again, this time slow enough for her mind to register what it could be: the cocking of a gun.

"Knapp-Shappey sounds ludicrous," she informed him through clenched teeth, hating the way her voice shook along with her hands. "I only keep it because Arthur finds it comforting, having the same name." She sniffed, trying for calm despite the way her voice trembled. "You'd think the boy would be happy to see the back of his father, but he still hopes, you know."

She was met, for several long minutes, with silence. "Mr. Shappey suggested you had the boy cowed," he said finally. "I could see it. You seem to be exceptionally strong-willed."

"Don't pretend you're doing this for anything but the money," she commanded, standing too far from the door to escape, and too far from the darkness to stop him if he chose to shoot. "Don't you dare pretend to care what's best for my son. You don't know what that bastard did to us." The fury bubbled higher, spilling from her eyes without so much as a by-your-leave, and a tiny, terrified part of her brain wondered if the man could see the liquid on her cheeks. Did moonlight catch tears?

"Then why don't you tell me?" Yes. Moonlight caught tears, if the sudden gentleness to his voice was anything to go by. Wonderful. She was about to die, and she was being pitied by her killer.

"He didn't fight for Arthur," she said, fighting to keep her voice calm and clear. Talking of Arthur helped, in a way she hadn't expected it to. Throughout the divorce, she'd been strong for her son, and now, with him asleep on the other side of the house, she was still strong. For him. "He fought for the plane. What Gordon Shappey cares about is money." She paused, then added, grudgingly, "Money and lackeys. He likes them subservient." She flashed her teeth at the darkness. "Well, you'd know, of course... wouldn't you?"

"Lying isn't going to get you out of this, you know," the man said, voice dropped to a level with the gravel of her driveway. "I've already been paid."

More tears spilled down her cheeks, as the fury faded into just fear, but she refused to shrink away. "Absolutely," she snapped, teeth clenching painfully as she tried to stop the ragged breath from sounding so loud in the bedroom. "Because insulting one's assassin is a surefire way to stop your death."

"You're stronger than I expected." There was contemplation in that voice, and an unexpected note of kindness that nearly snapped her in two. She wavered for a moment, then stamped one foot as she straightened her spine. "Far stronger. Get the paperwork."

"What paperwork?" she demanded... or attempted to demand. Her voice was going shakier than it'd been. It was one thing to be strong for a moment, but this was fraying her nerves. 

"Your divorce paperwork. The settlement. I want to see it." Gravel had given way to pure gentleness, and Carolyn's eyes widened. 

"You're...," she whispered, as her knees threatened to buckle.

"Starting to believe you, yes." She heard the gun again, metal-on-metal, and then metal-on-something else. "The gun's away for the moment. Get the paperwork, Carolyn." The command was the sort of gentleness that usually rankled, and Carolyn turned away, dashing a hand across her eyes with no concern for her mascara. That boat had sailed with the first slip of tears over her cheeks, after all.

"Will it make a difference?" she asked, as she made her way to the filing cabinet she kept by her desk. 

"If Mr. Shappey's lied to me about the background, you mean?" The low sigh sounded more sad than anything else. "Yes, it will. Pull out the paperwork, then go downstairs and pour yourself a drink. Close the door after you," he directed, and she heard the rustle of his clothing as he rose from where he sat. "You know what? Pour yourself two. Drink them slowly."

"And then?" Carolyn whispered, as she pulled open the second top drawer of the filing cabinet. 

"And then... we'll see, I suppose. Go on." 

She slipped the file from the drawer, and placed it on top of the cabinet, then moved to the door. "Don't... make it messy, if you earn your pay," she murmured, her hand on the doorknob and her back to the room. "Arthur's going to be the one to find me. Mess would just upset him." And then she stepped through the door and closed it, listening to the snick of the catch, and fighting to stay upright as she made her way back down the stairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I've no idea just how long this story is going to end up being. At the moment, I'm just looking forward to seeing how wild the ride is!


End file.
